Skin Deep
by TCLessley
Summary: In which Sarah once again finds herself trapped in the Labyrinth. But this time there is no way back, and the way forward can only be reached with the aid of the goblins, a good-natured cook, and three magical dresses.
1. Chapter 1

_I don't own anything that you might recognize, including but not limited to, Jareth and Sarah._

_Also, I like hyphens. A lot. And the words rather and really. And commas hate me, and I hate them back._

***

**Chapter 1: And So It Begins. Again.**

It was oddly quiet for a Saturday night. The rain was probably to blame. A cold front had moved in earlier that morning, darkening the sky to a mockery of twilight by noon, and a pervasive, steady drizzle had begun to fall shortly thereafter. It was still at it nearly fifteen hours later as the girl made her way home. Finally turning down her own street, the furious pace she had previously set began to slacken. She allowed herself to be lulled by the comfort of familiar surroundings until she was wandering near aimlessly down the rain-soaked avenue.

Spruce was a curiously dubbed little one-way street lined with tiny, new apartment buildings and maple – not spruce – trees. The circles of light flooding the leaf-littered sidewalk were speckled with shadow as water droplets clung to the street lamps overhead. Everything was damp and dripping and cold. The only sounds to be heard above the unrelenting rain were the 'click-click-click' of heels on pavement, interspersed with jagged sobs or venomous mutterings from the owner of the aforementioned shoes.

Occasionally, this relative silence would be interrupted by a passing car, more likely than not filled with noisy revelers seeking that elusive after-hours club said to be between Twenty-Sixth and Hamlet. The headlights of these noble questers would illuminate the slight form of the young woman, momentarily blinding her, at times causing her to stumble. Despite the weather, many had their windows rolled down, whether due to the unbearable heat of so many bodies fresh off the dance floor or to vent the fumes of substances of a questionably legal nature, one could only guess. It is out of these windows that cat-calls and jeers would issue forth, inviting the girl to come 'party' with the vehicles' occupants. Upon noticing her bedraggled and tear-streaked appearance, the boys either shut up, or offered to consol her in the most vulgar ways imaginable to young drunks at three in the morning.

Graciously, the girl chose to ignore the idiots and pressed on toward her goal. It was, however, little wonder why she was receiving so much attention, unwanted though it might be. If she had been in possession of an umbrella earlier in the day, she was quite bereft of one now, and the rain had done a superb job of soaking her clean through. Her dark hair frizzed and curled around her shoulders and down her back while her bangs lay plastered against her forehead. She wore no coat despite the chilly October weather, exposing her slightly revealing black dress to the world. Also exposed for the world's benefit, as well as inebriated twenty-somethings on the way to get even more sloshed, was an exquisite pair of legs ending in a dangerously high set of black pumps. And though she appeared young enough to still be called girl, with the way her sodden garments clung to her body, there was no denying she was a woman-grown. Had she been in a different section of the city, she would have had much more to fear than a few stupid boys attempting to pad their egos. Or, perhaps not, with the way she was carrying on.

Her current gait could only be described as the weavings of a drunken bee, her feet carrying her from one edge of the sidewalk to the other with little to no rhyme or reason. The tears streaking down her face and clouding her vision could have been the culprits behind her rambling steps, as could the thoughts clouding her mind, but perhaps it was both these things coupled with the beginnings of hypothermia that caused the young woman to move so erratically across the rain-slicked pavement. Luckily, her heels had miraculously good traction and her neighborhood's walkways were relatively free of clutter so that a vicious scrape-and-bruise combo – obtained when inadvertently slamming her knee against the avenue's lone mailbox – was the worst of her injuries gained that night. Well, the worst of her physical injuries. It was growing increasingly more evident that the _mental_ wounds she had sustained earlier were going to be the larger of her problems.

Where before her angry tirade had been mostly confined to her inner monologue, now her every other step was punctuated by an angry curse or gesture. At times, apparently both seemed appropriate. Bitter words, slurred and unrecognizable from the cold steadily seeping into her small frame, continued to pour forth as she revisited the night's events for what seemed the millionth time. She could not _believe_ what had happened. Had it really only been a short hour ago that her entire _world_ had come crashing down around her?

Sidestepping the newspaper stand that threatened to personally introduce her to some concrete, she began to fumble around in the slim, black leather handbag she had been clutching in a white-knuckled deathgrip since exiting Daniel's apartment. Yes, Daniel. Never Danny or Dan, but sometimes Ducky when he was too wasted to complain. God, she hated him. Couldn't even have a pet name without him flipping out. Stupid prick. And how in the hell had she remembered her purse and not her coat? Or umbrella? A few more unintelligible expletives escaped her lips before she finally reached the stoop of 521 Spruce Ave. Not quite the end of her journey, but near enough to breathe a hearty sigh of relief – promptly followed by a jag of hacking coughs.

Dragging herself up the necessary few steps, she leaned against the door of the apartment building and continued digging through her purse. It was impossible to lose a set of keys in the tiny bag, but never-the-less, it took her several minutes of fruitless searching before, nearly crowing with triumph, she produced a brightly colored keyring sporting an odd assortment of keys as well as a magnetic keycard. The keycard system was reminiscent of her not-so-long-ago college days, just like the rest of her tiny, cramped, dorm-like apartment, but never was she so glad to not have to punch in a pass code. It was bad enough trying to slide the little card through the reader as she shook and shivered. Had she needed to enter a code she likely would have been camping out on the steps until some kind, trusting soul let her in behind them. With her luck, she would be there until Monday morning.

Finally, the security light turned green, and she heard the lock give with a loud click. She wiped roughly at her eyes with the palms of her hands, pressing them briefly against her temples in a halfhearted attempt to compose herself before entering the building. After trudging up several flights of stairs, she eventually reached her door without major incident and without any nosy neighbors peering out and asking her if she had been hit by a bus or something equally unlikely – like being accosted by goblins. Ugh. Her brain was turning to pudding if she was thinking about _hi-_er.. _them_ again.

Miraculously, she managed to insert the correct key into her door's lock on the first try, and, gratefully, she staggered into her apartment, tossing her purse and keys on the ottoman-cum-coffee table, kicking her shoes off in random directions, and flopping down on her neatly-made bed. The pillows and coverlet were going to be a mess come morning, but she didn't care. Wallowing in massive amounts of self-pity, she pulled a well-worn stuffed rooster to her chest and promptly fell asleep.

***

Waking the next morning, Sarah found herself half-frozen and intolerably stiff from her night trudging six city blocks through the rain. She had never quite managed to burrow under the covers while she slept. And while that meant she only had to wash dirt and grime from her bedspread and not her sheets or blankets, she was not overly thrilled by the prospect of a mid-autumn cold. Her allergies played enough havoc around this time of year, she did _not_ need the added worry of coming down with a chill.

Grumbling and muttering to herself as she crawled out of bed, she decided the first sensible thing to do was to get a shower. After exiting the shower, towel wrapped snugly around her mane of hair and pink bathrobe tied tightly around her middle, she slipped into a pair of warm, fuzzy slippers before heading to the kitchen to make herself a cup of lemon tea.

Hopefully, the warmth of the tea would stave off any burgeoning sore throats, and the vitamin C from the lemon would bolster her immune system against any nasty germs that felt she would make a suitable host for them and their thousands of generations of grandchildren. Plus, Sarah had always loved to watch the color change as she squeezed fresh lemon into her tea.

Firmly ensconced at her little kitchen table, ready to hide from the miserable day she could see brewing outside her window, Sarah decided the next thing she needed to do was call Karen. Though in the past she and her step-mother had never gotten along, their relationship had become akin to one shared by sisters separated by a substantial gap in ages after Sarah went away to university. Karen would give her advice about demanding professors, idiotic boys, and life in general. And though Sarah would not always heed it, she did at least listen.

Sarah pressed Karen's speed-dial digit and waited for her stepmother to pick up the phone. It took five rings, but finally Karen's frazzled voice came over the line, "Hello?"

"Hi, Karen. It's me."

"Oh, Sarah! How did it go last night?"

"Bad. It went bad, Karen. Really, really, really bad."

Sarah proceeded to sob into the phone, telling her stepmother of how she had waited and waited and waited at her boyfriend's apartment dressed in her new sexy black dress and matching undergarments that she had so carefully picked out and how she had set out candles and put on some 'mood' music and ordered in from his favorite Indian restaurant and had everything just _perfect_ because she had decided that tonight would be the night. The night that she'd finally say yes and they would make mad, passionate, yet gentle, love all night and into the morning because it was his birthday and she _thought_ it would make him _happy_ but the asshole just _had_ to come home with that blonde bitch he worked with, Nancy or Nina or some other stupid name that started with an 'N', Sarah couldn't remember, and she quite frankly couldn't care. And they had started kissing before they'd even gotten all the way into the door, before they saw her sitting on his couch, waiting for him. And she had screamed and the bitch had yelled and Daniel had tried to apologize and Sarah had started to cry and ran out the door without her coat or umbrella and walked all the way home through the pouring rain.

"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry. Are you feeling alright? You aren't catching a cold, are you?" Karen's concerned voice echoing her thoughts from earlier made Sarah smile. She reached for the nearby tissue box and used several to wipe at her nose and eyes before responding.

"I'm feeling okay. I made myself some lemon tea. I think, if the weather lets up, I'll go down to the market and pick up some ginger, just in case. I have some casting calls next week, and I think I have finally got that audition I've been hoping for lined up, so I really can't afford to get sick."

"Are you ever going to tell me what this mysterious 'audition' is for?" her stepmother asked cajolingly.

"Not till I get the part. You know the drill. I just... I wish this hadn't happened right now. I really, really liked him, Karen. I thought we had something _special_, you know? Why are all the guys I pick morons?"

"I don't know, dear. It took me quite a while to find your father, and even then, it wasn't a walk in the park for me, you know."

"Yeah. I remember. I think I've said I'm sorry for my teenage angst about five million times now." She grinned, remembering what a horrible brat she had been just a few years before.

"Honey..." She could hear Karen rifling through the many papers inhabiting her 'filing' drawer. After several minutes of rustling and muffled grumbling, "Here. Do you have a pen and paper handy? I want you to write this number down." Obliging her stepmother, Sarah quickly retrieved a post-it pad and marker from the fridge.

"Alright, I'm ready." Slowly, Karen recited the numbers over the phone, and Sarah repeated them back to her for accuracy's sake. "Now, who is this person, and why am I calling them?" Eased by the normalcy of being bossed around by her stepmother, Sarah was beginning to sound like her old self, adopting the affectionate, if slightly defensive, tone Karen was accustomed to hearing.

"Do you remember Paul Reynolds? He's a friend of mine from college. Your father and I have had him over several times for dinner when he's been in town. Tall, sandy hair, gorgeous eyes..." Karen's voice trailed off into half-hearted chuckles. She was trying to mask her nervousness, Sarah knew. Wracking her brain for who this mysterious 'Mr. Reynolds' was, she finally struck upon the connection between herself, an old friend of her stepmother's, and why in God's name Karen would want her to speak with him.

"Karen, he's a shrink."

"Now, I know what you're going to say, but, Sarah, I do _not_ think you are crazy. I just think you need someone to talk to," Karen hurried to explain.

"But... I talk to you," Sarah whispered, her voice containing no small amount of hurt.

"I know, sweetpea," Karen said soothingly, "But you've been under a lot of stress lately, and this thing with Daniel is only going to make it worse. Now, wouldn't it be nice to talk to someone who's really only there to get paid to smile and nod at you?"

"Karen, you make it sound like prostitution," Sarah admonished.

"Honey, we would all _be_ so lucky if Paul decided to change professions," her stepmother said with a laugh.

Sarah shook her head. "You're terrible."

"I know, dear. I know. Now, promise me you'll call him. If he sounds phoney and not worth your time, then you don't have to go. But, if he sounds like someone you can unburden that kaleidoscopic little soul of yours to, then please, please make an appointment." Karen sounded genuinely worried for her well-being, and it wasn't as if it would hurt to just call the man.

"Alright, alright. I'll call tomorrow."

"Why not today?"

"Because, Karen, it's Sunday. He'll be closed."

"Ah. Yes. I suppose you win this round."

"Goodbye, Karen."

"Bye, sweets."

"Thank you."

"Any time."


	2. Chapter 2

_Oh, the melodrama, the melodrama…It's at the bottom. (You have been warned.) Cheers. :)_

**Chapter 2: Talking About It Makes It All Better. Really.**

Sarah called Dr. Reynolds' office Monday afternoon to make an appointment. As luck would have it, there had been a cancellation for Friday morning at eleven, and if she wanted it, it was hers. Otherwise, she was going to have to wait till December. Yes, it just seemed to be her lucky day. Lucky, lucky. It probably hadn't hurt that she was the step-daughter of a friend, either. She gave the receptionist her insurance information and was assured, repeatedly, that there was nothing to worry about and that everything would be taken care of before she arrived – which made her doubly suspicious that Karen had already called and made some arrangements where the appointment and bill were concerned.

Hopefully, she wouldn't even have to shell out her co-pay because Dr. Reynolds' office was just outside of the city and the taxicab fare to get there was going to be astronomical. Sadly, the bus-line did not extend quite so far. She had checked.

And so, Friday morning found her exiting a shiny yellow taxi in front of a cheerfully antiquated little farmhouse complete with black shutters and white-picket fence. In the yard there was a sign proclaiming it to be 'Northside Psychiatric Associates', and on the door was affixed a gleaming gold placard bearing the names 'Reynolds, Terry, and' – of course, the ubiquitous – 'Smith'.

Sarah, after making her way up a quaint little stone path, opened the front door to what looked like a slightly cozier version of the standard doctor's office. Comfortable-looking chairs lined two contiguous walls, and a long, low table littered with magazines was placed in front them. The check in desk was on the far side of the room, and Sarah made her way toward it as a small bell that was attached to the door jingled, alerting the receptionist to her presence. Beaming entirely too brightly to be completely natural – Sarah wondered how many times a day the sample cupboard was raided around here – the woman asked for her name.

"Sarah Williams. I'm here to see Dr. Reynolds."

"Hello, Sarah. My name's Carrie. I just have a few forms for you to fill out." The woman handed her a clipboard and pen and offered another blindingly brilliant smile. "Why don't you go have a seat in the waiting room, and by the time you're done with those, I'm sure Dr. Reynolds will be ready to see you."

"Thank you," Sarah said a touch nervously as she retreated to the other side of the room. The overly perky woman was starting to creep her out.

Just as she was finishing up the tedious and repetitive paperwork, she heard a kind, masculine voice call her name. She looked up to see a tall, blond-haired man standing in the middle of a doorway that led further into the set of offices. His already fair hair was shot through with a little silver and his deep blue eyes were warm and open. He had the build of a man that used to play football in college and still worked out regularly. He probably played tennis or swam or jogged or whatever cute, middle-aged psychiatrists did to stay in shape.

Sarah was pleasantly surprised to find that Karen had not been exaggerating Dr. Reynolds' good looks after all. The last time she had seen him was at a Christmas party her step-mother had hosted three years prior. A lot had changed for Sarah since then, including her outlook on the attractiveness of older men, and she was looking forward to gossiping with Karen about her handsome friend once this session was over.

Smiling, she stood and walked over to the front desk to deposit the clipboard and papers. Afterwards, she turned to Dr. Reynolds and began to introduce herself.

"Oh, no need for that. I remember you, Sarah," he said with a wink. He gripped her hand in a firm handshake before leading her down a long hallway and up a short flight of stairs to his office. "You can call me Paul, by the way. None of that Dr. Reynolds business. It makes me feel old."

"Sure, Paul," she replied, already warming to his easy-going manner.

"Take a seat anywhere you like, just not behind the desk, that's mine," he joked. "I'm going to lock the door so that we have a little privacy. If it makes you feel uncomfortable, let me know. I'll leave it unlocked. It's just that some people around here don't seem to know how to knock before barging into a room. Slightly uncomfortable for a patient that's broken down into tears and slightly disastrous for a patient with a low tolerance for surprises," he finished ruefully.

"Carrie?" she ventured.

"How did you guess?" he smirked. "She's Joshua's niece. Dr. Smith's," he clarified.

"She doesn't seem so bad," Sarah offered, taking a seat in a well-worn leather recliner.

"She isn't. Most days." He seated himself behind his desk and took a pair of glasses out of his shirt pocket. There was a thin manila folder lying on top of the desk with her name printed on it block lettering. He opened it, gave whatever was inside a quick glance, and put his glasses back in his pocket.

Sarah wondered if there was anything in there that Karen had told him. She waited for his verdict a bit agitatedly, her foot tapping a nervous rhythm on the hardwood floor.

"When you made the appointment, you said you were under a lot of stress and that's why your step-mother suggested you come see me." He glanced pointedly at her tapping foot, "I can see you weren't making it up just to come and break up the monotony of my day with a friendly face."

She blinked at him, caught off guard by his flippant remark. Slowly, she allowed herself to relax into the amazingly comfortable chair, her rigid posture softening as she began to realize Paul was not going to be her judge and jury – at least not today.

"I just graduated from university. I'm living on my own for the first time in my life, plus I just moved to a new and much bigger city. I'm trying to line up auditions and acting gigs all while working part time at a bookstore so that I don't completely use up my entire life savings paying rent on an efficiency that costs more than most mortgages where I'm from. On top of all this, I find out that my boyfriend has been cheating on me with the blonde hooker he works with. I would think that might stress anyone out," she groused.

"Your boyfriend is a pimp?" he asked curiously.

"What? No, that's not what..." She shook her head, "Is this how it's going to be? I whine to you about my pathetic life and then you tease me? Because I can get that from Karen."

"No. I'm just trying to figure out why you're here. Do you have a problem dealing with stress, Sarah?"

"I- No. Well, maybe. I'm not sure."

"How do you mean? Have you ever had any really negative reactions to high levels of stress?"

"Well, there was this one time when I was fifteen..." She paused, uncertain of whether she really wanted to tell him.

"Please, Sarah. I'm not here to spy for Karen. I only want to help you."

"Alright. Fine. My dad had just gotten promoted to partner at his firm, and he and Karen were going out a lot. I know they had to, now. They didn't really have a choice. But at the time I was a sulky fifteen-year-old girl left alone with a baby brother who I absolutely _loathed_. So, I wished him away. To the goblins. Or at least I thought I did. I had a very, very vivid dream one night when Karen and my dad were away. There was a thunderstorm. I guess... I don't know. It seemed so real..." Sarah paused for a moment before gathering herself together and telling Paul the story of her time Underground running the Labyrinth.

"I even used to think I could call my friends from the Labyrinth in my dresser mirror," she smiled fondly, sadly.

"And, you know… sometimes... sometimes I wish that all of it actually were true. And that the Goblins really would come and take me away..." She smiled glumly over at Paul, "Right now." Her head lolled back against her chair wearily, "Does that make me crazy, Paul?"

"Well, Sarah," Paul began, slipping into 'shrink' mode as he donned his spectacles, "It isn't uncommon for people in highly stressful situations to wish to escape into dream worlds. Why do you think sci-fi and fantasy books sell so well?" He gave a brief chuckle and then continued, "And there aren't many more stress-filled situations than adolescence. No, I don't think you're crazy, Sarah. You can, after all, tell the difference between your fantasies and reality."

During his little speech, Paul had been studying his steepled fingers, not really making eye-contact with Sarah, so what she said next probably surprised the hell out of him, "Paul, I... I wouldn't be too sure of that, given the present state of things. Because, if I'm the only one in this room that sees a freakishly tall man, with freakishly spiked blond hair, and a freakishly glittery outfit... I think Karen was right all along, and I could do with a brief stay in a mental ward."

As she spoke, the room's newest occupant moved towards her, grinning maliciously. "Ah. Well, maybe not so brief," she managed to squeak out before shrinking back against the lazy-boy and curling in on herself protectively.

Paul's glasses fell from his nerveless fingers onto his desk with a clatter. He couldn't even remember when he had removed them. Though, he didn't need them to see the 'freakishly' attired man, as Sarah had so eloquently put it, standing in the middle of his office – his locked office. No, you could probably spot this one from five miles away in pitch dark in a sand storm.

"Sss..." Sounding like a dying snake, he cleared his throat to begin again, "Sarah... who... who is this... person?" His voice quivered only slightly, and Sarah would have been proud of him, had she been paying any attention. Instead, her eyes were firmly fixed on the man standing before her, watching for any sudden movements, like a rabbit that had stupidly allowed itself to be cornered by a fox.

She was offered a momentary reprieve as Jareth turned toward the psychiatrist, one aristocratic eyebrow arched rather imperiously. "Did I give you permission to speak, my fine fellow?" he queried, his words a veritable purr. "I do believe that I did not. My business here is with the lady." Frowning as Paul moved to stand, he barked a sharp command, "Sit down, fool." His lips curved into a satisfied grin as Paul's body slammed down into the chair. Hard.

The King's voice once again oozed charm as he turned back toward his true victim. "My, my, Sarah. How things _have_ changed. Though, I must say, your backbone seems to have softened considerably." His eyes traveled along her form suggestively, his grin growing wider, shifting into a rakish leer. "Thankfully, the rest of you has become so much more... _defined_." The withering look she shot him only served to elicit a hearty laugh from His Highness before he continued on with his oh-so-aggravating appraisal. "Unfortunately, my dear, your vocabulary certainly has not improved. I can think of a great many words to describe my ensemble; however, 'freakish' would not be one of them."

Gradually, as she began to get used to the idea of Jareth being real and standing three feet in front of her, her body unfolded from its fetal position, as did her brain. "Alright. You want some descriptors, Goblin King? How about tacky, gaudy, gauche, loud, garish, improbably shiny, in direct defiance of the laws of gravity. Oh, and let us not forget the all important: flaming. I suppose your kind aren't called 'fairies' for nothing." Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she gave him a self-satisfied smirk.

A genuinely amused light had entered Jareth's eyes as Sarah carefully ticked the little list off on her fingers, and his leer had softened to a vaguely lascivious grin. Until she got to that last bit. "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah... when will you learn to control that nasty little temper of yours? You really would be infinitely more pleasant if you would merely remain silent."

"Perhaps when you learn that hair gel is not an item one normally buys in bulk," she snapped back.

Suddenly, his mood darkened considerably. With all trace of mirth gone from his features, he ground out, "Girl, do not defy me. This is not the same game we played the last time. Oh, no, little Sarah. The rules have changed." With his customary smirk once again gracing his features, he took a step nearer Sarah's chair, bringing himself within arm's length.

"Blah, blah, blah. Yeah, I've heard most of this before. How about you just set your terms and we get this over with? I have an audition at four tomorrow, and I would hate to be late." She was really getting a handle on this false-bravado thing. Yawning up at him, she smiled serenely and then allowed herself a brief glance over at Paul.

What she saw made her fists clench in anger. The psychiatrist was struggling vainly to stand, and his lips kept moving, but no sound reached her ears. It would have been comical, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, his hands fluttering helplessly on the top of his desk, if it weren't so horrible. As his eyes darted from the Goblin King to herself and back again, she could see that they were full of worry and frustration. Worry for her, though he had only known her so briefly. This wasn't right, what was happening to him. Not at all, and it was all her fault. She had to do something to fix it. Quickly, she came to a decision. Perhaps not the best one she had ever made – not that her list of 'bad ideas' was all that short – but it certainly was a brave one.

Before Jareth could reply, she took one long, deep breath and rose to her feet, directly in front of him. Without even so much as a flinch, she met his eyes to deliver her ultimatum, "No. I have a better idea. Here are _my_ terms. Now. We will end this right now. Let him go." She gestured over at Paul's writhing form. "He has nothing to do with any of it. Release him, and I'll go with you willingly. That is the deal." Her eyes flashed fire though she sighed inwardly in defeat. "Please, just leave Paul alone..." she said at last when all the Goblin King did was stare back at her for several long moments.

With a startlingly quick movement, he grabbed her arm at the elbow. Pulling her toward himself, he hissed, "You will come with me willing or no, Sarah Williams, because you have said your right words, and given me all the power over you I will ever require." He sneered down at her derisively as his grip on her elbow tightened.

Her eyes grew large at the venom in his tone. Looking up at him with more than a little fear, she offered meekly, "Ouch. That hurts. Please, Goblin King, let me go." When he didn't respond for what felt like an eternity, an exasperated sigh escaped her lips and her face contorted in a rather unbecoming mixture of anger and terror. She struggled against him madly, jerking her arm to punctuate her pleas. "Please. You're hurting me. Let me go. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to call you. Just let me go. Please. Go away and leave me alone!"

Slowly, her movement ceased as she realized that all her frantic tugging had accomplished was to make her elbow sore. In fact, Jareth hadn't even budged an inch throughout her little fit of hysteria. With no little effort, she managed to rein in her shrieking emotions, though her body remained tense, ready to flee at a moment's notice if given the chance. Gathering up her courage, she made one last attempt to reason with him, "Goblin King, I _said_ you are _hurting_ me." She added a wonderfully childish foot-stamp at the end, just to drive the point home. So much for cold logic.

The King gazed down at her, his head cocked to one side and his face an unreadable mask. He uttered one word before both of them vanished, "Good."

***

As soon as the pair left the office, Paul Reynolds could move again. Leaping from his seat, he shouted, "Sarah!" at the top of his lungs, and then looked sheepishly at the door, hoping no one had heard. He wasn't exactly sure what had just happened, and wasn't sure at all that he wanted to know. But one thing was clear, he had to tell Karen and Richard that their daughter had just been abducted, and he was pretty sure it wasn't by aliens. He punched their number into his cell phone, and then sat for a long while with his head in his hands before pressing 'send'.


	3. Chapter 3

_For anyone that is reading this story, I am in the process of moving (far, far away) and so, I'm not sure when the next update will be. My apologies. Also, this chapter is just a lot of talking. I apologize for that, too. ;)_

**Chapter 3: The Bargain is Struck**. **Kinda.**

For one brief, horrible moment, Sarah was filled with the most awful sense of vertigo she had ever been privileged to experience. And then her feet were firmly planted back on solid ground. Unfortunately, said ground was no longer the rich, polished hardwood of a Dutch Colonial farmhouse turned psychiatrist's office, but the old stones of a medieval castle whose only polish was the wear of time and tread of feet. Though, it didn't seem as if this room got that heavy of foot-traffic, she admitted, glancing around somewhat dizzily as the remaining cobwebs of spatial distortion were cleared from her sorely abused brain.

It appeared that the Goblin King had magicked them into his study. Or at least _a_ study. There were no physical characteristics she could see that would lend her to believe the man spent much time there. Relatively small and cramped, it contained a tall, skinny bookshelf overflowing with tomes of all shapes and sizes, a low divan upholstered in ivory silk which occupied the entirety of the far wall, and – the apparent centerpiece of the room – a garish and too-large cherry-wood desk complete with matching swivel chair.

The only other piece of furniture was a tiny end-table that accompanied the divan. A silver tray bearing a crystal pitcher and glasses took up most of its diminutive top. A few muted tapestries depicting prosaic scenes of country or courtly life adorned the walls, their pastel embroidery clashing heavily with the plush red carpet that covered the floor. About the only thing that overtly screamed 'Jareth' was the little prismatic sphere lying innocently on one corner of the hideous desk; though, if the little orb had once been magical, it had been downgraded somewhere along the line to 'paperweight' as it appeared to be the only thing keeping a large, uneven stack of parchments from flying off into space.

Everything in the room was of an obviously fine quality, but, aside from the desk and chair, nothing at all matched. To Sarah, who had grown up with design consultants, Feng-shui, and several cable channels entirely devoted to home renovation and decoration, the whole thing looked like a Buckingham Palace garage-sale gone bad.

This quick appraisal of her surroundings took Sarah at most fifteen seconds. It took her another five to realize the Goblin King still had ahold of her arm. And that his grip had loosened. Twisting out of his grasp this time was entirely too easy, and she all but flung herself to the other side of the little room to be as far away from him as possible incase he tried something idiotic. Again.

Sarah was most definitely _not_ in the mood to be abducted today, of all days. She really did have an important audition tomorrow, which she was most probably going to _miss_ thanks to his Royalness. An audition she had worked her ass off to secure, calling in favors and running herself ragged trying to ingratiate herself with the right people just to have a single _shot_ at the part. Eponine might not be as coveted a role as Cosette or even Fantine, but damn it she wanted it, and she was going to have it – if it weren't for this puffed up excuse for a fairy king.

Jareth, for his part, seemed not even to have noticed her discomfort at being in the same room with him. He was straightening his sleeves and smoothing down his jacket almost as if he was... _preening_?

"Well, Sarah, how did you find my performance?" he queried, a smug smirk gracing his lips. But it wasn't the usual smug, creepy Jareth-smirk. No, this particular arrogant expression was much more open, like a boy who had just done a terribly complicated skateboard trick in front of all of his friends, which was weird because she could just imagine the Goblin King getting his ass handed to him if he showed up at a skate park dressed as he was. Not entirely certain how to react to this new version of her arch-nemesis, she stuck with what had worked in the past: bitchy teen.

"Your performance?" She paused as if giving it a great amount of thought. "Oh, it was... _adequate_, I suppose." She refrained from adding an indignant sniff and hoped that the brief shock she had felt over his question hadn't shown on her face. She was, however, somewhat relieved to find out that all that scary crap had just been an act. She knew that the Goblin King was a prick and a half, but she didn't think he would ever actually hurt her. Much.

Which is why she felt a tiny, infinitesimal amount of guilt at the crestfallen look he shot her. Though it wasn't enough to stop her from adding, "And I bet you practiced for days in front of the mirror to get those oh-so-frightening facial expressions just right, didn't you?"

"You would know, Sarah-my-dear. After all, I do believe it is you that is oh-so-familiar with standing in front of mirrors," he grinned rather sardonically as he mocked her.

Her face flushed an ugly shade of crimson, "You know very well they don't come when I call anymore. And I just bet _you_ had something to do with it, you big jerk. Can't stand the fact that someone actually _wanted_ to be friends with a dwarf, a monster, and a fox with a horrible sense of smell over _you_."

He brushed her angry words off like so much dryer-lint, replying matter-of-factly, "You reached your age of majority. I had nothing at all to do with that. The only reason I knew you kept in contact at all was because I felt it every time you called and they answered. I know when anyone in my realm contacts the Above Ground. It wasn't as if I was keeping tabs on you, Sarah." He looked at her incredulously, one eyebrow rising dangerously close to his hairline, "Is that what you think? That I've been spying on you all this time, just waiting for you to say the words again so I could spirit you off to the Underground? To do what, exactly? Exact my terrible revenge? Seduce you?" He chuckled slightly, "Utterly ridiculous."

Sarah wasn't entirely sure she believed him, but she was feeling somewhat mollified until he added, "Besides, you're human. Forgive me, but the idea of seducing one of your kind is akin to the idea of bedding a goblin." And he really meant it, judging from the unabashed look of disgust gracing his fine features at the very thought. Of having sex. With her. That complete and total _jerk_!

Her anger was back ten-fold, and she was just working herself into spitting cat mode when he really looked at her for perhaps the first time that day, "Pardon, but did I say something to upset you?" He cocked his head to the side, looking genuinely confused. So, here was proof that the Goblin King really was just an idiotic man after all, speaking before thinking. She felt all the anger seep out of her along with the adrenaline that had been keeping her on her feet. Her shoulders slumped, and she felt a little woozy and then a little nauseous, almost like she could throw up right at his Highness' feet if the room didn't stop spinning.

"Hmm. Perhaps you should sit down," the King suggested, but instead of waiting for her to seat herself, he gently led her over to the divan, pushing her down when she seemed incapable of making her body obey simple commands. He poured a clear liquid from the crystal decanter into a waiting glass and offered it to her. After some moments of her staring blankly back at him, he huffed exasperatedly, "It's only water. I swear it."

Rolling his eyes when she still refused to accept, he poured himself a glass and took a long drink before holding out the glass he had previously offered. She took it this time, sniffing the liquid inside suspiciously before taking a hesitant sip. "Thank you," she offered meekly, having verified the drink was indeed only water and feeling foolish for nearly passing out on His Majesty's ugly red carpet.

He nodded his acceptance of her thanks and then – thank God! – moved away from her to sit in the chair behind the desk. Perhaps it was his office after all, she mused noting the way he casually draped himself in the desk chair as if he most assuredly belonged there and the very idea of anyone else having the audacity to sit in this particular chair but him was patently inconceivable. Of course, that could just be the way he sat in _any_ chair. She really didn't have much to go on, this being the first time she had seen him sitting somewhere other than the ground. And she was probably still in shock if she was contemplating Jareth's choice of seats instead of trying to figure out a way to get back home and to her audition.

She shook her head a bit at her inane thoughts and then realized the King had been trying to get her attention and was looking more than a little put out that she wasn't hanging on his every word.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" she asked politely, thinking it better to behave while he was acting so nicely. Maybe he would agree to send her home quickly while he was in such a seemingly docile mood.

"I said that I really don't have any idea what I am supposed to do with you now. No one has ever actually wished _themselves_ away before. You are a rather unprecedented creature, Sarah. One would think you merely exist to vex me." He smirked at her affectionately, rather like she had done with Merlin after chastising him for running through the house with muddy paws.

"You could just send me home," she suggested hopefully, a wan smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She knew she looked pathetic, but if it got her home faster she'd beg at the jerk's feet. Well, maybe not beg, _per se_, but plead dramatically until he agreed to let her go.

He took another sip of his own water and studied her for a moment. She was beginning to feel a little like a bug under a microscope when he responded, "No, I'm afraid that's not possible."

"Why not?" she immediately challenged, having forgotten her earlier admonition to behave.

"Because you wished _yourself_ away," was his annoyed response, as if it made all the sense in the world, which it didn't. Not one bit.

And so she followed up with, "But I was only talking to Paul about the last time I was here. I didn't actually mean to wish myself away." Alright, so maybe that was a bit of a fib, but there was more truth in it than lie and now that she was actually here, she really _didn't_ want to be.

"Yes, yes, however, as you know, what's said is said. Though you may have only been discussing your previous," he paused, searching for the right word, "..._adventures_ here, the fact remains you did indeed speak the incantation. And you must have meant it at least somewhat, or it would not have worked." So much for him not seeing through her little white lie. "Also, you _were_ telling another how to best the Labyrinth, which is, Sarah, rather a lot like cheating." He scowled at her a touch grumpily.

"Maybe," she offered glumly. "But.."

He cut her off quickly, "The problem isn't only that you wished _yourself_ away, Sarah." She was really getting tired of how he said '_yourself_' like she was the biggest dummy to ever live. It wasn't as if she'd meant it! She hadn't even been sure if the Labyrinth was real or if she'd gone mildly psychotic due to excessive amounts of hormones in her early teens.

Jareth continued on, unaware of her snappish internal dialogue, which really was just as well. "The second problem is that you have already beaten the Game once before. And there isn't another one, Sarah. There isn't another one because it was assumed most people would learn their lesson the first time. Or, if by some strange happenstance they were to win, they would be so grateful to be gone that they would never think on this place again except in their nightmares." He turned a hard glare on her, as if to drive home the point she was a blithering idiot. "But apparently, the Contractors never conceived of a creature such as yourself, one who would, after defeating her many trials and tribulations, allow her mind to dwell on the Game to the point of forging bonds with its inhabitants strong enough to call them to her, who would say the words again, and mean them, and last of all who would wish _herself_ away the next time she got it into her head to play with old spells and curses," he finished with a sigh and a little shake of his head at the absolute absurdity of it all. Bastard.

"Oh, as if I knew it was a God damned curse," she spat. She was really getting tired of his condescending bullshit.

"You surely ought to have after you used it the once, little girl." He was starting to sound like his old self, at least the self that she remembered, and she didn't like it at all.

"I still don't understand why you can't just send me home," she sulked.

"As I said, you wished _yourself_ away," he repeated for what felt like the billionth time.

She huffed indignantly. "I _get _that. But that still doesn't explain _why_ you can't just send me home. I can't read your damn mind, Goblin King, so if you could just spit it out, I would stop asking," she nearly growled.

His eyes shifted from hers to the papers on the desk and back again before he leaned forward, resting his elbow on the desktop and his face on his upturned hand. And then he gave her an answer. Unfortunately, it was spoken into his palm and therefore nothing more than a garbled mumble.

"Pardon?" she mimicked. "I didn't quite catch that, if you would be so kind as to _repeat it_." Her voice was saccharin sweet until the end when her teeth began to grind together so forcefully she was surprised the words had even managed to escape her lips relatively intact let alone perfectly intelligible.

Jareth heaved a large sigh and then spoke the most horrible words she had ever heard in her life. They were right up there with, 'Your mother ran off with a man from her acting class,' and, 'It didn't mean anything. You know you're the only one for me.'

"I don't have the power to send you home. I could only bring you here because you wished it."

She blinked at him for many, many moments until grating out, "And you couldn't have just told me that in the first place?"

Not even looking remotely chagrined, the blasted monarch managed to mutter, "I did tell you, about a half-dozen times, why you could not go home. It is not my fault your tiny human intellect could not grasp the concept." How he could still sound so melodious and smooth while voicing such petulant thoughts, Sarah would never know. What she did know is that however nice his voice was, he was still a great big ass.

"So, as my brain is apparently the size of a pea, would you _please_ explain to me, slowly and with as many words as necessary, why it is I'm stuck here. Forever. With you." She glowered over at him, arms crossed over her chest and right foot tapping impatiently on the carpet.

He gave her a deadpan look as he began to mechanically recite the whys and wherefores of his inability to return her home. "You, Sarah Williams, wished yourself away knowingly and willingly." It was apparently plain she was about to interrupt him because he continued on a bit louder. "And if you also wish me to explain this to you, you will keep your sizable mouth shut."

She glared daggers at him as he continued to do his best to ignore her. "As I was saying, you knew the words had power and yet you still said them. This would, as you know, normally result in you running the Labyrinth for a chance to win whatever it was that you wished away – in this case, _yourself_. But, you see, the problem is, is that you have already done that and _won_. Had you lost, you could have challenged the Game any number of times, being sent home automatically each time you lost. Of course, you would have also lost whatever it was you were trying to save. However, as you have already solved the Labyrinth, it is impossible for you to make another attempt." Another interruption was on the tip of her tongue, but he held up a hand to forestall her.

"And before you ask me why, it is because that is the way of things here. You cannot expect to be allowed to face a Challenge that you already know how to defeat. That would be decidedly less than fair, after all." At this, he grinned toothily at her. "And, as you wished your own _self_ away, there is no one else to undertake the task for you. Thereby leaving no mechanism to send you home as the Contract me and mine have with the Labyrinth's creators is to collect those wished away, give them a chance to attain freedom through those who spoke the curse to be rid of them, and to dispose of them properly once the curse caster has failed or forfeited. It was not I who sent you and your brother back. It was merely the end results of your victory. So too do those who fail return home by the will of the maze. I have no part in it." He paused, clearly gearing up for his big conclusion, she hoped.

"And that, dear Sarah, is why you are _stuck_ here. But it may not be forever, and it most assuredly will not be with me. Fate willing, I will not ever have to see you again once you leave this room."

She looked at him suspiciously and clung to the one piece of hope she had found in his long-winded explanation, "What do you mean it might not be forever?"

He shrugged noncommittally, "It is possible that you may find someone out there who has the power to send you back. Though, it is just as likely that you will be eaten. Actually, the chance of you being eaten is much greater than you finding a being with sufficient enough power to breach the barrier between worlds."

"But, don't you routinely cross between worlds when you abduct us mere mortals?" She supposed further antagonizing the King was a bad choice, but she was rather too far gone at the moment to care. Besides, he had started it with the crack about her being as sexually appealing as a goblin.

"Mm..." he paused, "Aside from the fact that I do not _abduct_ people.." The look on Sarah's face spoke volumes as to what she thought about _that_. "I only _collect_ the wished away and, at times, the wisher."

"Semantics, Jareth, is not something I think either of us want to argue about right now. However, I doubt that Toby was jumping for joy when your little minions _absconded_ with him."

"Well, actually…"

"I don't want to hear it. I just want to know why Jareth the Mighty Goblin King who can purportedly move the stars and bend time to his will can't just send me home with a flick of his effeminate wrist!"

"It isn't as easy as all that, or, I assure you, I would not currently be having this conversation with you. I believe you have successfully given me my first migraine."

"Oh, would you just admit that you are not all-powerful so that I can get the hell out of here and find my own way home?"

He blinked at her in disbelief, "You do not seriously intend to go out there on your own, do you?"

"I don't see any other way since you either can't or won't help me."

Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose as if he really were suffering a debilitating headache, "I cannot let you do that."

"Why not?" Her words came out in what was very close to a plaintive wail, much to her embarrassment.

"Sarah, if you leave here without any sort of protection, you are going to die, or wish you had. I can even set you outside of the Labyrinth itself, but that will not help you. Perhaps you do not remember the lands beyond the Gates, but they are rather inhospitable, and you are only a human girl."

"I'll take my chances." Her bravado was not entirely feigned even if it was a bit forced.

"I am not overstating the dangers of the Underground, you foolish chit. When I say you will likely be eaten I do mean that your throat will be ripped out, if you are lucky, before your flesh is devoured and your bones cracked to get at the marrow inside. You were lucky once, but I somehow doubt you will be so fortunate again."

Sarah's face turned a sickly shade of green, and she took quick gulps of her water. Her mind kept replayed a scene from a travel show she had recently watched where the host greedily scooped out the marrow from ox bones remarking on the delicious, creamy texture of the jellied fat. Except that the ox bones were replaced with fresh-looking human ones and the host was replaced by ten or so fat, hairy troll-beasts.

"I… I can see your point. But, Jareth, I can't stay here. I don't belong here," she reasoned softly.

"But Sarah, you do," he gently explained, "You belong to the Labyrinth now. And as I am its King, you really ought not call me by name."

His moderate, consoling tone was what finally convinced her he was serious about her not being able to go home. She looked over at him with wide, vaguely terrified eyes, "So, what am I supposed to do now? Where will I go? How will I live?"

"Fear not. As you are technically now one of my many adoring subjects – yes, adoring, don't roll your eyes if you wish to keep them in your head, girl – I find myself responsible for your well-being."

"Gee, for some reason, I don't find that terribly reassuring."

He continued on as if she had never spoken, "Now, however, the dilemma becomes what to do with you. I can't very well give you to Mother Hulda. You're too old, she won't take you."

"I'm too old for what?" she scowled at him, choosing to see his comment as a slight.

"Too old to give to Mother Hulda," he repeated, a great big Cheshire Cat grin gracing his lips. "So that she might turn you into a goblin."

"Oh," Sarah said, her ire a bit stifled. "Um… you actually do that?"

"I do not. Mother Hulda does," he clarified. "But, as I cannot give you to her, I must find somewhere else to put you. Do you have any talents? Any skills?"

Sarah sat huddled dejectedly on her glorified couch. "I'm an actress."

"Do you sing? Can you play?"

"Yes. I sing. And yes, I play. The piano since I was five and the flute since I was nine. How is that helpful?"

Jareth looked thoughtful for a moment, again studying his hands. "There is a minstrel troupe that passes through my lands from time to time. Perhaps they would have a place for you… Unfortunately, they are not scheduled to return for another six months. We still must find some occupation for you in the interim." He paused, "Can you cook?"

"No," she replied gloomily.

"Clean, then?"

"Of course. Who can't clean?" she snapped. It was something of a sore spot. Sarah had been characterized as rather fastidious in her cleaning regime by her politer friends and colleagues and anal-retentive by the more outspoken.

"Well then, that is settled. I shall present you to Madam Marbo and be done with you," Jareth smiled broadly, evidently relieved that her place in the world was settled. Sarah was not quite so happy – honestly, she was down-right _un_happy – but she supposed being a servant was better than being a goblin. There was just one more thing…

"Jareth?" she asked softly.

"You really shouldn't do that, Sarah. From now on it must be Your Majesty or Your Highness."

"Alright, Y-Your Highness," she tried the words on for-size. They did not fit well in her mouth. "I… have a request."

The Goblin King tilted his head, signaling that she should continue.

"My parents… my family and friends… Would you… Could you make them forget about me? Make it like I never existed? …Please?" She didn't want to sound any weaker than she already had, but she couldn't help it. There were so many people she was going to miss, so many people that would likely miss her. She couldn't let them wonder what had happened to her.

He nodded quickly. "It is already done." He rose to his feet and offered her a hand up. "Come. I will deliver you to the servant's wing. But Sarah," he cautioned, "once we leave this room, you will no longer be Sarah Williams, Champion of the Labyrinth. You will be Sarah the Ordinary Castle Servant. You must remember this."

She nodded, unable to form an adequate reply, and took his hand.


	4. Chapter 4

_Moving is miserable. Moving to the desert is even more miserable. ;)_

_Not my characters. Though, I'd probably sell my soul to work for The Jim Henson Company._

**Chapter 4: Wicked Step-Mothers Have Nothing on Grumpy Bosses**

Sarah followed Jareth – or rather, his Majesty – down yet another narrow, twisty, and cramped flight of stairs while muffling a long-suffering sigh with the back of her hand. She had been dogging his rather hasty footsteps for what felt like forever, ever since he'd so graciously guided her from the tiny study and then all but dragged her through what she was very suspicious had been his bedroom. He had quickly dropped her hand once they'd reached the relative safety of the hallway, and then had proceeded to set a brisk pace, leading her down endless staircases and along winding, windowless corridors seemingly at random.

Alright, so more like His Royal Highness had trotted off down the hall and expected her to follow behind like an obedient animal – which she had. Well, it wasn't as if she had anything better to do with her time, she'd told herself bitterly.

Thankfully for her calves, the Descent into Hell was just that, entirely downhill. She had lost count of how many steps she'd trudged down at around two hundred. After that they'd all begun to blur together as she attempted to keep pace with the evidently indefatigable monarch. She had yet to see any other people – or goblins for that matter – and was beginning to suspect that this 'random' path was not so uncontrived as she had first imagined. It appeared that the King was trying to keep her presence in the castle hidden, at least for the time being. Perhaps to shield her from unnecessary and unwanted attention, but more likely, the paranoid part of her brain insisted, to save him the embarrassment of being seen with her.

At last, the King halted in front of an unassuming and rather nondescript set of double doors. Sarah, engrossed in her melancholic thoughts, had mere seconds to slam on the brakes or plow right into the back of him. Grumbling unkind things about supercilious kings and sulking quite heartily at yet again being made to look like an idiot, it was a good thirty seconds before she glanced up and found Jareth studying her rather critically.

Sighing dramatically – as if the King knew any other way to behave – he delivered his pronouncement on her person like a verdict from heaven, "You will not pass for anything other than what you are. Unfortunately."

Sarah's chin tilted a touch higher while her eyes narrowed, "And just what _exactly_ am I?"

"An Above-Ground girl," the King remarked offhandedly, and then after a brief pause added, "Why? What did you think I meant?"

Her only response was another glare – perhaps this one even more terrifying than the last, because the King hurried on. "Right. Well. Have you thought of a convincing story for how you ended up here?"

Sarah stared at him incredulously, "Was I supposed to be doing that while also running a mini-marathon _and_ trying to keep you in sight at all times so I didn't get lost in your damn confusing castle, which's architectural design, I might add, is actually more ill-conceived than your horrid Labyrinth's?" Her hands had balled into white-knuckled fists at her sides, and she was visibly shaking by the end of her little diatribe.

"I will take that as a no," the King replied with an almost imperceptible wince. "Hmm. Well, most of those from Above I find wandering along the Outskirts say they either followed fairy lights deeper and deeper into the woods until they were hopelessly lost. Or they tripped over nothing at all and ended up falling a bit further down than they had originally anticipated." He paused, and then offered magnanimously, "You may choose whichever you prefer." His customary smug smirk was once again firmly in place, and Sarah was two seconds away from attempting to wipe it off his face permanently when he said rather seriously, "I do not believe I need to explain to you just _why_ you need to refrain from telling all and sundry who you really are, do I?"

Sarah sullenly shook her head.

"Good girl," the King said with what Sarah assumed was supposed to be a reassuring smile. It fell short by many, many miles.

"So, my choices are either I got lost in the woods or tripped over my own feet? Fantastic. Why don't I just say I stepped into a glowing stone ring and was magically transported to fucking Tir Na Nóg while I'm at it?" In her ire, she missed the startled look the King gave her. "I mean, basically you want me to say I'm either a klutz or a moron. Some choice," she finished dryly.

"Well, you did _accidently_ wish _yourself_ away, my dear. Perhaps you are both." The next smile he graced her with was perfectly honest and sincere. A more guileless grin there never was. Unfortunately, it was also the most utterly infuriating thing Sarah had ever seen. For a moment, she was filled with the mad urge to stomp on his foot and make a break for it down the hallway and hopefully to freedom, becoming someone's lunch be damned.

But, as had been happening quite often of late, her fire left just as quickly as it had come, and the reality of her situation weighed heavily upon her. She was trapped, possibly forever, in the Underground with no knowledge of the strange land she found herself in aside from what she had learned while running the Labyrinth, no way to contact her friends Below or Above, and no position in society except for perhaps serving maid to the egotistical jerk that had stolen her away in the first place. And yes, dammit, she knew she had asked, but hadn't the Goblin King ever heard of something called a rhetorical question?

She was once again working herself into a snit of epic proportions when it appeared that the King finally noticed her more than slightly morose expression for he began to cajole in his light, sing-songy fashion, "Sarah, Sarah. Cheer up. It will not be so bad. The others from Above do well enough here. And it is not as if you are the only human in the castle. I dare say, most of the castle's staff is human.. more or less," he finished with a shrug.

Sarah's shoulders slumped in defeat. Suddenly, she was very tired, and she seemed to have caught the headache she had given the King earlier. Sighing deeply and pinching the bridge of her nose, she asked in a vaguely pleading voice, "Can we just get on with it?" She failed to add that being in his presence another second was going to drive her 'round the bend, but she felt that her over-all body language and tone had gotten the message across well enough.

"Very well, then," the King acquiesced with a slight nod and rapped sharply on the nearest door.

A door which was opened by a scowling, red-faced young woman who was clearly expecting someone other than the King because she had just enough time to bluster out an, 'It's about time,' when her eyes grew big as saucers, and she fell into a hasty curtsey, her forehead nearly touching the smooth stone floor her ample skirts had pooled upon.

Actually, Sarah thought it was a bit more like groveling in abject terror rather than a proper curtsey, what with all the, 'I'm so sorry, your Majesty,'s and, 'Please forgive me, your Majesty,'s, but what did she know?

She took some small amusement in the bewildered look plastered across Jareth's face. Apparently he didn't know how to deal with hysterical females anymore than most men. Had the little farce gone on much longer, Sarah probably wouldn't have been able to hold back the laughter that threatened to break free. But thankfully for the King – and what was left of the poor serving girl's dignity – a shrill voice called out from further in the room, "What _is_ going on out there, Getrude? Has Penelope returned?"

"N-no, Madam," the girl, Gertrude, stammered, finally picking herself up off the floor. She then made a valiant attempt to remove the non-existent dust from her skirts and apron, thus giving her an excuse to keep her head bowed and eyes averted from the King still standing in the doorway.

"Well then, who is it?" queried the same, fingernails-on-chalkboard voice. It was getting closer.

"It's.. It's the.. um.." The girl's eyes darted up toward Jareth's face for a moment, then quickly back down. She swallowed heavily before announcing to her shoes, "It's his Royal Highness, the King."

Sarah heard a shuffling, scuffling sound as if someone was dashing across a stone floor at break-neck speed trying to avert the disaster that was Gertrude leaving the King standing out on the doorstep. She was not wrong. In mere seconds, a tall, thin woman dressed in unrelenting black from head to toe appeared on the other side of the door. Her equally black hair was pulled back in a tight, utilitarian bun that tugged at the corners of her eyes, giving her a slightly elfin appearance. Given where she was, Sarah supposed it wasn't impossible that it was not only her appearance that was elfin.

"Your Highness," the woman cooed, her nasally voice doing nothing to ease Sarah's aching skull, "good afternoon. We were not expecting you. Otherwise…" She gave Gertrude a cool, condescending look before continuing. "Well. Never mind. What's done is done," she said with a shrug and a tight-lipped smile. "What can we do for you, Your Majesty?"

"Marbo, I have brought you another foundling. This is Sarah Williams," he stated grandly, beckoning Sarah to precede him into the room. When he did not immediately follow her through the door, she turned and gave him a questioning glance.

"Sarah, this is Madam Marbo. You will be in her care from now on," he said reassuringly. He seemed to be laying it on a bit thick, and she wondered if it was for the benefit of the head of the household staff or if he always acted so pompous in public. She decided it really didn't matter and turned her attention to the woman who would be her boss for at least the next six months. All in all, she gave Sarah the impression of nothing so much as a walking, talking stick with hair.

Apparently she found Sarah just as wanting because she asked the King rather dubiously, "And does she… _do_ anything?"

"Cooks and cleans like any other woman from Above, I would imagine, Marbo. You know how it is. But there isn't anywhere else to place her at the moment," the King said somewhat apologetically.

Sarah's pupils dilated at the words coming out of Jareth's mouth. Had they been alone, she surely would have attempted bloody murder. As it was, she forced herself to stand perfectly still as she let various scenes of torture play through her head in hopes that one of the King's many skills was mind-reading – not that he'd shown much aptitude for it before.

Madam Marbo nodded in understanding, "Well, we will just have to make do, I suppose. We've done it before." She gave Sarah a disdainful pressing together of the lips that was apparently supposed to pass for a smile.

Sarah responded with a brief baring of teeth that she supposed could also pass for a smile – among feral dogs. It was like being introduced to Karen all over again. Except that this woman was a thousand times worse – knobbly, black, sour-faced stick that she was.

"I can see the two of you are going to get along marvelously," Jareth announced gregariously. Sarah hoped that he was being ironic, otherwise he was _really_ dumb. Perhaps generalities about blonds held true even across species.

"Yes, I'm sure," the black-clad woman agreed with such forced politeness Sarah wondered that she didn't choke.

"Well then, Sarah, I'll be off." He turned with a flourish, and right when he was about to step away, Sarah found she couldn't stop herself. She just had to say, "Goodbye."

"Your Highness," she muttered belatedly.

He turned once more to face her and solemnly said, "Goodbye." He stared at her for a moment before adding, "Sarah Williams." And then he was gone.

"Now, now, what to do with you?" The shrill-voiced harpy was speaking again. It made Sarah want to go take a nap in a dark room.

"Gertrude," Marbo shifted her attention to the previously forgotten girl, "find her a bed and something suitable to wear."

"Yes, Madam," Gertrude replied with a quick nod.

"Come along, Sarah," she beckoned, forcing the girl from Above to tear her eyes away from the door that had swung shut upon the King's departure and step forward into her new life as a serving maid in the Castle in the Center of the Labyrinth.


End file.
